Work Text:
The truth was, Fenris couldn’t get Hawke out of his head.
It was not as if he endeavored to have Hawke in his head, any more than he endeavored to have him out of it. In fact, if he had his way, thoughts of the mage would form in his mind no more and no less than they did for anyone else he knew.
And yet he found that, when his mind wandered to Hawke, an almost fluttery feeling broke to life in his chest. It was an almost uncomfortable sensation, like trying to breathe in a strong wind. Yet, even as he realized he could name the sensation, still he did not see a reason to stop it.
Hawke had seemed surprised when Fenris had taken his offer to give him more trouble as a chance to flirt. The man’s eyes had widened. His breath had stuttered. And yet, before Fenris could wonder how he’d managed to misinterpret Hawke’s signals so thoroughly, the man had reciprocated in kind. “Do you see anyone else here?”
A part of him, a part he did not like to admit to, wished to turn to the easier of the two options. He knew there was fun to be had with the vixen Isabela. And with her, there would be no strings attached. She was easy, simple with her offering. A night or more of fun, an easy camaraderie that needn’t go any farther than physical appreciation. He liked that about her. She took what she could get, gave what she was willing, and asked for nothing more.
With Hawke, it could never be so simple. There had been an earnestness to the man’s words, an almost shivering anticipation when he’d spoken. It had been… thrilling. It should not have been. As much as Fenris recognized Hawke’s divarication from what Fenris considered the mage ‘norm,’ he should have no desire to ground himself to another one. Yet he had to admit that the idea was, as he’d told Hawke, intriguing. How many times had Hawke managed to surprise him? To make Fenris viscerally aware of his presence, through nothing more than his choices and actions? And any fool could see the man to be a prime example of human aesthetics. And while he couldn’t help but compare, at least superficially, to Danarius, Hawke always came out superior. Physically. Morally. And, if he ever chose to use his magic for more than shielding and healing, perhaps even magically.
While that should still worry him, he no longer found himself fearing Hawke’s choices. In fact, if ever he needed help, the first person he thought to go to, as if on instinct, was Hawke. Hawke would not let him down.
But there would be no easy give and take of physical gratification with the man. Perhaps that was why he waited, why he found himself, more often than not, wondering whether he should allow his thoughts to slip so easily to the mage. He knew where the thoughts would lead. His dreams rocked with the images, demons no doubt feasting on his mind.
He went to the tavern, as he always did whenever these thoughts came too strongly to mind. Varric would likely be up in his room, hiding in the back in case anyone from the Merchant’s Guild showed up. Isabela, at this time of night, would have likely found herself some other way to occupy her time.
Yet, when he entered, his gaze ghosting over the room, as always, he caught sight of her at her usual place by the bartender, one long finger crooked at the serving girl, the woman sending her a saucy look. The serving girl flushed and stumbled over, a drink in hand.
Isabela had flirted with him, many a time. He had enjoyed the ridiculous exchanges, the meaningless, uncomplicated game of it. Yes. With Isabela, everything would be so much easier. She would want nothing more from him than she wanted with Nina.
Hawke would want more. He was certain of it.
He sat. Of course, Hawke wanting more wasn’t his only problem. Every dream he had in which he and Hawke were together, his mind switched Hawke with Danarius, and vice-versa. Would he even be able to separate the two when it counted? He knew by now that there was nothing in common between them.
Except the magic. Always, always the magic.
After an indeterminate length of time, Nina finally came over with a glass for him, her hair a bit loose and her skin red. She mumbled an apology for the wait and hurried away again. Fenris wasn’t quite wrong, then; Isabela’s diversion would simply come a bit later than expected. Likely as soon as Nina got off work. Or, if the woman could slip away, before even then.
He saw Isabela turn to him, wink, and then wave to Nina before heading to the back. The woman nearly dropped her tray again. Fenris had barely gotten halfway through his tankard before Nina followed after her.
He sighed. What a wonderfully uncomplicated thing sex was.
He drank the rest of his tankard, then, unwilling to brave the ever-gossiping bartender, took himself straight back home. The mugger who tried to stop him managed, at least, to take the edge off of his frustration.
The strangest thing, Fenris decided, was how Hawke never brought up anything about what they’d said to one another. Perhaps the man was giving him his space. Perhaps he had no idea what to do with the concept, any more than he himself did. Or perhaps he’d chosen to renege.
The last seemed very unlikely; he had never known Hawke to back out without telling someone - or, really, to back out at all. Which left one of the other two. Fenris didn’t know enough about Hawke’s past, but he was too handsome a man to have never been in a relationship. That left the first option. Really, the one that, with Hawke, made the most sense. He’d followed the man around for years; he knew enough about him to know he nearly had a fetish for obliging other people. The man couldn’t walk down the street without trying to help someone carry something, or offer to find something for another, or move to a child in distress. He had allowed his brother to do as he wished, even when the younger Hawke showed himself too impetuous. He had helped Fenris, even when Fenris had condemned him for his magic.
Yes. Hawke was giving Fenris his space. Again.
Fenris cornered the man outside the Chantry after the sermons, knowing very well Hawke liked to visit the building on the holy day, just not during the actual sermon hours. Hawke’s eyes widened when he saw him. Then he smiled. Fenris’ heart fluttered, the traitorous thing. “Hawke.”
“Fenris.” The man came to a stop before him, and Fenris, having been leaning against the Chantry wall for over an hour, finally stood straight. The man seemed to notice Fenris had been waiting for him. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Or, of course, he could simply be doing what he always did - putting everything to the side to help another. Sometimes Fenris wondered if the man was even real.
He’d had a plan, of a sort, when he’d decided to come out here. Hawke’s bad habits were like no other he’d ever seen before; where others would choose to self-destruct through alcohol or gambling, Hawke chose to self-destruct through giving others what he thought they needed. He wanted to fix any misconceptions Hawke might have by making his own priorities known. There was no sense in beating around the idea of being with Hawke if the two of them weren’t on the same level to begin with.
But now that he stood here, before Hawke, with such things on his mind, he realized he had no ability to actually speak on such things. Usually he relied on Hawke to get the emotional conversations started; always Hawke would be willing to lend an ear, to ask personal questions on the knowledge that, if Fenris showed reticence on the subject, it would not be broached again. Thus, of course, giving him the chance to speak on his own time.
Which was what he was doing now. If he could ever get to doing it.
Of course, Hawke was ever patient waiting for him to get his tongue working. If Fenris decided to suddenly turn around and leave the way he’d come, he could even be certain Hawke would follow after him and ask if he was all right. If he needed help.
He had no idea what he was going to say.
He gestured toward the chantry. “I expected you sooner.”
Azzan looked down, then up. “I had my own prayers to say,” he said quietly. “And a few things to work out with my spirit. On days that I consider holy, I find it easier to interact with.”
He wanted to grimace; when he’d come to speak, he hadn’t thought he would have to contend with talk of demons again. Well. Spirits. He could concede that Hawke was not an abomination. Not even close. “And that took you so long?”
Hawke shrugged. Most people would get defensive here, tell Fenris it wasn’t any of his business. And it wasn’t. But not Hawke. “Some things take a while.”
Somehow, the words sounded ominous. But this wasn’t what he’d come to talk about. “Is there any news on who killed the templar’s family?”
Fenedhis lasa.
“Nothing,” Azzan said, his lips thinning at the reminder of the dead. The difference between him and Danarius left him breathless. “I know a few days have passed. I’m worried, too. But no matter what, we’ll keep looking. Whoever this person was, they killed two innocent people, at least.”
He’d come outside to be able to speak about their flirting without making it seem like he was making some sort of play. He still wasn’t certain he wished to walk this path. He still felt as if he was living on a razor’s edge, waiting for the even ground to crumble out beneath him. And something like this - a real relationship - it was building roots. With a mage.
He nodded. With only a split second of hesitation, he stepped a bit closer. Just enough to get too close. Enough for him to have to crane his neck back to keep eye contact with those deep ocean waves. “Has Aveline learned of any link between the family and the estate?”
Azzan shook his head while Fenris berated himself. “No. Having both unsolved is really bothering her.”
It was bothering him, too. A wild abomination let loose in Kirkwall. And it still bothered him how so many had died with no one else knowing. And right beside Hawke.
If the killer could get in to one of those estates, they could get into any of them. And Hawke now lived alone with his mother. All it would take would be targeting the man’s mother to place Hawke in a vulnerable position.
The surge of fury, familiar now after so long, that surged within him at the thought, made the buzzing of the Hightown crowd turn into the sound of water, an endless river. He had to breathe deeply to keep his vision steady. His hands clenched, the metal of his gauntlets clinking slightly as his fingers curled. Once again, he was reminded of how he’d leaped in front of Hawke the moment he’d seen the man in danger. The rage had consumed him then, as well, along with fear.
Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps he’d already put down roots, and it would be impossible to leave Kirkwall now, even if he wanted to. Even if he had to.
Azzan reached out and squeezed his shoulder. The touch was unexpected, despite the proximity he himself had initiated. But the fluttering, glowing feeling in his chest reached epic proportions at it. He sucked in a breath. “We’ll find them, Fenris.” Another squeeze, and then Azzan let go. His shoulder felt cold. “Is that why you came here? You know you’re always welcome in my home. No matter when.”
There was no real choice here, was there? He may be afraid of starting a deep relationship, but that apparently hadn’t stopped him.
Isabela’s offer might be nice, and it might be simple. He might have even wished to take her up on it, had circumstances been different.
But they weren’t. They could never be. Because the very idea of having never met Hawke stung like vipers in his flesh. He would rather this insane, unfathomable relationship with this impossible man than any other. Instead of worrying over Hawke’s penchant of allowing those around him to do as they pleased, he should be grateful. This was what he needed. It would be ridiculous to be upset at receiving it.
“I might take you up on that someday,” he said, finally responding to Hawke’s invitation to his home. Another small blush; Hawke once again hadn’t meant his words to imply anything more than kindness. But a small smile blossomed, breaking into something almost boyish, and Fenris’ heart skipped a beat. He loved that smile.
“Good,” Hawke said, and his voice had dropped a bit. Fenris caught the darkened color of his eyes, the black nearly covering the blue. Isabela may have been beautiful, but this man was absolutely devastating. “Would you like to come now?”
Fenris motioned toward the chantry. “You have somewhere you wish to be, I believe.” At the slightest dimming of that gorgeous grin, he added, “but I could join you, if you wish.”
It came back. His heart thundered in his chest. “I would love that,” Hawke murmured.
Isabela would just have to understand.